


A Short Vampire Fic

by garrideb



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2013-12-11
Packaged: 2018-01-04 07:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1078391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garrideb/pseuds/garrideb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When James comes back home after a long trip abroad, Michael is surprised to learn that James was recently turned into a vampire and is struggling with his new condition. Luckily Michael is there to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Short Vampire Fic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luninosity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luninosity/gifts).



Michael knocked, and then rang, and then pounded the door. He wasn’t expecting James to answer. But the garden of the modest house looked kept; someone had raked brown and brittle leaves into a neat pile, and the shrub by the front door was no longer crowding the walkway. Maybe James had raked the leaves and pruned the shrub. Maybe he was finally back home. 

But Michael’s hopes couldn’t be raised yet again, so he didn’t really believe it.

Even when a soft Scottish burr called out, “Come in,” Michael barely believed it.

The door was unlocked; the house was dim. Thick drapes blocked out the slanted autumn sunlight. A few lamps were burning half-heartedly, but even in the meek light Michael recognized the blue eyes. James gazed up at him from where he sat curled up in a living room chair, cocooned in a polar fleece blanket. 

“James,” Michael said, unevenly.

“Michael,” James replied, careful and measured.

“I heard you might be back. Patrick let something slip. if you've been back without telling anyone, that probably means you don’t want visitors, but I wanted to see you. I know I should have called first. Sorry.”

James nodded. “You're right. I didn't want visitors. But I do want to see you, too, so,” he shrugged. "Don't apologize."

It was funny, the potent mix of emotions James inspired, like some heady cocktail that evoked all the categories of taste. Michael'd been worried, jealous, and heartsick while James had been gone. Now that he was in front of him he was relieved, but that didn't quash the other feelings. “I was starting to think you were never coming home. The tabloids were having a field day with you, you know—“

James grimaced.

“—with that Count you were traveling with, taking you to cafes in Paris, spas in Reykjavik, nightclubs in Tokyo. You know, I thought I knew you and the kind of lifestyle you liked, but you seemed to be soaking it up. Maybe the high life was what you wanted.”

James sat quietly, staring down at nothing in particular. “No, you did know me. The Count was a fucking asshole.”

Michael couldn’t help the happy vindication that swelled in his chest, along with anger and curiosity about this asshole Count. It took fairly atrocious behavior to peeve James. “What did he do?”

“Where do I start?” James laughed weakly. “He trashed a hotel room and was an utter shit to the staff. Pretty much any staff, anywhere. He had entitlement issues like you wouldn’t believe. Oh, and he turned me into a vampire.”

“What?” Michael’s brain ground to a halt as he processed that sentence. “The Count is a vampire? The tabloids never said—you’d think they’d make that part of the headline, it’s very, um, tabloid-esque --” Oh god, he was babbling. 

James didn’t seem to particularly notice, actually. “The tabloids wouldn't've known. He was an unregistered vampire. As am I, now. You’re… you’re not going to turn me in, are you?”

“Fuck no!” He’d heard stories of registered Vampires disappearing or dying in mysterious circumstances, although he figured at the time that most of it was conspiracy theories fueled by goth teenagers with romantic notions of Vampirism.

Suddenly the stories of experimentation and extermination seemed all too horrifyingly possible now that it was James at stake. …and, _James_ and _stake_ were now two words he didn't want in the same sentence. “You said the Count was unregistered. Um, was, past tense. You turned him in?” It would serve the bastard right, biting people without their permission. Biting James. Fuck the Count.

“No. At first I couldn’t because I needed him to stay alive. My choices were sticking with him or getting registered and getting help that way, and well, the devil you know over the devil you don’t, right?” James grinned, humorlessly. His incisors were unnaturally long and sharp, and distantly, past the anger he felt for James’s situation, Michael was fascinated. He was also proud that he hadn’t flinched. He hoped James had noticed.

James continued, “But once I was strong enough and got the knack of, um, feeding, I left him. And I ran into Patrick in Iceland—or he found me, I’m still not quite sure—and it turns out he knows some underground resources for vampires. He also told me he and Ian would call in some favors to deal with the Count. So the past tense might be for the word ‘unregistered’, or it might….be more…” James shrugged. Wrapped up in the blanket as he was, his hands couldn’t make their usual gesticulations. 

“He deserves anything that happens to him,” Michael assured James. James smiled sadly, lips closed this time. In the silence that followed, the ticking of James’s old clock echoed, loud and lonely. “So… no more sunlight?”

“No more sunlight. Who would have thought I could burn even worse than I usually do?” James nodded down at himself as if to indicate the pale skin buried under the blanket. Indeed, Michael remembered slathering sunscreen on those broad shoulders. It was when they'd been filming together in the south, and had had a few free days to sight-see. James had been wearing a simple t-shirt with a wide neck, and he'd insisted that anywhere the the skin was exposed required an SPF in the triple digits. Quadruple digits would be even better. Then they'd invented a hypothetical six-figure SPF made from grains of mithril and dark matter and a few drops of water from the river Styx. 

Of course James's shirt had pulled to one side during the course of the day, exposing a line of skin across his left shoulder. It had been bright pink by the evening, and an angry red the next day. 

James sighed. "Well, no direct noon sunlight without covering up head to toe with sunglasses and a ski mask. I'm still experimenting with overcast days and dawn and dusk. If I don't liger too much it's not bad. No spontaneous combustion yet." But despite the grim statement, James seemed to be cheering slightly. 

It was obvious how desperate he was to talk to someone, anyone, about his condition. Michael was overwhelmingly glad he had decided to come. “Mirrors?” he asked next.

“Is that a crack at my appearance? No, I can’t blame that one on vampirism. I can still see my reflection.”

“You look fine,” Michael replied automatically, then paused. It wasn’t strictly true. James looked clean and groomed, but his skin was waxy and the planes of his face seemed too hollow. There was a definite aura of malaise about him. That didn’t seem right; vampires weren’t supposed to look shaky, were they? But what did Michael know about vampires? Maybe this was normal for a newly-turned vampire. He knew he'd need to talk to Ian and Patrick himself, soon. Get some Vampire 101 literature he could trust.

Of course everyone knew vampires were real. That had become public knowledge about ten years ago, when dozens of young attractive people across Europe turned up at hospitals after being newly turned. It had doctors baffled, but the similarities of the symptoms to those of the supposedly mythological monsters was obvious to anyone with an inch of imagination. Still, no doctor would have risked his reputation on a diagnosis of 'undead'. The illness would have been given a fancy name and scientifically categorized as best it could had it not been for the vampire press conference. 

After living quietly and seclusively for hundreds of years, the matriarch of Norway's oldest vampire family outed herself and her brethren simply so she could disown the rogue vampire who was breaking every rule in the vampire book by biting and abandoning his lovers left and right. 

The vampire press conference was a smash hit with a certain segment of the media. The saner, more serious reporters kept a death grip on credibility, trying to spin the story towards the realm of plausibility by claiming it was a genetic disorder that had somehow become communicable through blood contact, and that the vampire family was simply a family of outcasts who had, through the generations, internalized the reputation of "vampires". 

That probably would have been the prevailing narrative, but the matriarch set something in motion among her clan by stepping in front of a camera. Perhaps they were tired of living in seclusion and keeping their secrets. Maybe they were lonely, or liked the taste of modern fame. Whatever the reason, several of the younger vampires began using their superhuman strength in public, and feeding off of willing humans in crowded nightclubs. The narrative tide shifted, the supernatural abilities became undeniable, and soon "vampire" was the accepted answer.

That was when the legislation started. It made sense; the vampire population was booming for the first time in centuries, and the law had to accommodate it. But beyond the blindfold of Justice, groups with special interests were moving. The Norwegian vampires all disappeared over the next few years. It was impossible to say if it they had simply slid back into the shadows--after all, it was where they had lived for so long--or if they'd been captured or killed. 

Out of the billions of humans on earth, only a few hundred were vampires, but that didn't stop the wild speculation. Tabloids loved to speculate on the rich and famous, especially those who didn't pose on the beach in swimwear on a regular basis. It was actually pretty surprising that none of the rags had caught on to James and the Count, Michael mused. Probably because James wasn't really prime paparazzi prey. The photos of his globetrotting trip with the Count were mostly just published online, and, Michael thought, mostly because James was just so damn photogenic. 

James didn't look camera-ready now. Michael walked over and perched on the arm of the chair, finally close enough to touch. It was important that James knew Michael wasn't scared of him. Especially for his next question. "Where are you getting blood?"

Shadows fell over the lake-blue eyes. "That's usually the first question, isn't it? The heart of the matter." His brow furrowed. "Oh, bad pun. Sorry."

Michael snorted, which got James to smile. Michael's heart sang. "Well, it's not _my_ first question. Blood-drinking, as a concept, is pretty straight-forward. It's the mirror thing that always bothered me. How do you check for spinach in your teeth? And in the old movies, the clothes don't reflect either. How does that work? If you juggled in front of a mirror, would the balls appear as soon as they left your hands, or would they stay invisible?"

"You're ridiculous." One of James's hands ventured out of the blanket to poke Michael's leg. "And the mirror superstition is bollocks, as far as I can tell."

"And the blood?" 

"I get it delivered. Bagged blood. Human. Donated specifically for drinking, so I'm not taking from a hospital's supply."

Michael nodded. It sounded reasonable, although it was stupid to only take blood specifically donated for vampires. The blood was still being used for life-saving purposes, wasn't it? It shouldn't matter how it saved a life, as long as it wasn't being wasted. "Are you getting enough? Not to be rude but you look like you could use a drink." 

James's lips twitched upwards. "Blood or alcohol?"

"Whichever is more fortifying, in this case."

"Probably blood, then. To be honest, they missed a delivery. I'm a tad low."

Of course he was. And of course he'd make it sound like he was running low on milk or sugar, not a substance that was keeping him _alive_. Michael stood up. "Do you have their phone number? I can call for you."

"It's fine," James said, vaguely. "Oh, I should have offered. Do you want anything to drink? Coffee? Tea?"

Michael shook his head.

"It's just," James started, then hesitated. Michael sat back down, leaning forward to hear James's soft voice as he spoke again. "I've been thinking. About how hard it will be to film a movie when I can't go out in the sun."

"It's certainly a handicap." Michael ventured. "There's voice acting, though, and theater, and crazy CGI tricks. Not to mention movies set in sunless settings. Your career isn't over." 

He watched James's reaction for signs of reassurance, but James remained curled in on himself and unnaturally still. "I've also been thinking about…well, how different it will be if I'm not aging. If I'm going through centuries rather than decades. How do you plan your life for that kind of lifespan?"

Michael felt his worry rise. He wasn't really one for existential questions, but he could recognize a person struggling in the face of a hard diagnosis. "Well, it's something you figure out as you go along, like everything else in life. Have you ever really known where you'll be in ten years? It's all blind fumbling." That came out sounding harsher than he intended, so he added, softer, "It's not something you need to answer tonight."

"No, I suppose not. But there are immediate concerns. I'm living a secret life now. Anyone who knows about me could be in legal trouble, if the secret got out. Harboring a vampire is pretty serious--"

MIchael held up a hand, freezing that velvet voice before it could give life to more doubt and insecurities. "James, when did you last drink blood?"

The blues eyes flickered towards Michael, wide with surprise. "It's been--" James sighed. "They've missed the last few deliveries, actually. I would have called them, sorted it out, but…"

"You started thinking."

For a second it looked like James was fighting tears. "Yes."

"Fuck. James…" Michael leaned down and found one of James's hands tucked in the folds of polar fleece. It was cold in his grasp. "You can't make a decision like that, not now, not when you haven't given this a chance." _Never make a big decision on an empty stomach_ , his dad's voice echoed, but Michael didn't say that one out loud. "Can you stand up?" James nodded slowly, and Michael pulled him to his feet. James swayed, but Michael was right next to him in case he collapsed. He unwrapped the blanket from around James and tucked it around his own shoulders, noting that there was barely any warmth from James's body. 

He sat down in the vacated spot and pulled James onto his lap, wrapping the abundant edges of the blanket around them both, feeling kind of like a bird wrapping James in his wings. The angle meant that James's head rested on Michael's shoulder, with James's mouth near the crook of Michael's neck. James's eyes were wide and uncertain. "Michael…"

"Level with me. You need blood badly, don't you?"

There was a nod, barely perceptible. "I got a pamphlet that said…new vamps, typically two pints a week…" Here his voice dropped, seemingly embarrassed. "It's been two weeks since I drank last. I'll--I'll call my supplier. I know it was irresponsible to wait this long."

Michael tightened his arms, preventing James from getting up. "That doesn't matter. Right now you need some blood. And guess what, I've got some blood."

James's breath hitched and his head moved so that his nose was pressed to Michael's neck, as if he'd just now smelled the arterial torrent just beneath the skin. "I don't want to hurt you," James said. His lips brushed against the crook of Michael's neck, muffling the words.

"You won't."

"You can't know that," James replied, lifting his head to look Michael in the eyes. He looked so pale and thin. Starved, really, and Michael just wanted to skip this argument and make James better.

"I _can_ know that. Remember that time you crashed the golf cart and my knees and shins were gushing blood? I was fine then, wasn't I? Just slapped on some plasters and I was good to go. I'm practically invincible like that. So no, you can't hurt me."

James stared at him, mouth slightly open as if caught between a glare and a laughing fit. His incisors seemed even longer now, gleaming wetly from their place behind James's red lips. His pupils were dark and dilated. "You really want me to drink your blood?"

"Of course I do. I care about you. This is like cooking for you, or driving to the pharmacy for you, except maybe a bit more, which is fine because I care about you a bit more. More than a bit, that is. I mean, I love you. You know that, right?"

James blinked owlishly at the stumbling sentence, and then he grinned, his teeth on full unashamed display. "Yes. I know. I love you too."

He couldn't help grinning in return. "Then there's nothing more to say. I've had a lot of water today, so I'm well hydrated, and I had a good lunch so I'm fortified. Let's do this."

James leaned in again to nuzzle against Michael's neck, but after a few seconds he dissolved into giggles. "I'm sorry," James laughed, "I'm just imagining you saying that before sex," and Michael cracked up too. Michael was still laughing when, a moment later, James's teeth slid into his skin.

It was a sign of how desperate he was for blood that James hadn't protested longer or harder. Honestly, there were probably lots of good reasons to wait for some bagged blood, but Michael had always been a risk-taker, and he had no regrets as he felt the pierce of James's teeth. It was sharp but bearable. Then James moaned as he sealed his lips around the bite, and that sound of satisfaction drew all of Michael's attention away from the pain. 

Michael kneaded at James's neck as he drank. All he noticed now was the heat of James's mouth, the way James's hands clenched and unclenched in Michael's shirt, and the way the skin of James's neck was warming beneath his hand. 

He lost all track of time, but it must have only been minutes later when James pulled away with a final lick. Michael gently probed the bite mark. It was tender but no longer bleeding. He smiled at James and then nearly did a double take. James was practically glowing with vitality. His cheeks had lost their hollowness, and his skin was no longer sallow. Now he looked healthy and adorably flushed. His teeth were back to their normal size, too, although honestly Michael thought James looked equally wonderful with or without his fangs.

Michael ran a hand through his hair. "Do you need any more?"

"No, I can't," James said. "I already drank too much." 

"I feel fine. Not even a little dizzy. You can take more."

James laughed softly. "No, I mean I drank too much for myself. I feel like I just binged on chips or something. Way too full." He winced--for dramatic effect, Michael thought--and leaned back into Michael's arms. Michael snaked a hand down to James's belly and started rubbing soft circles. The effect was even better than he'd intended; James's eyes fluttered back like a contented cat and he sighed in pleasure. 

Michael pressed a kiss to the top of the wildly tousled head. "Feeling better, then?"

"Mm-hmm."

"This chair…it's not really big enough for two."

James cracked open an eye. "No, it's really not. Want to take this to my bed?"

"Go to bed with a vampire? Sounds dangerous," Michael said, throwing James an exaggerated leer.

"Please. I just drank your blood and ended up with a stomach ache. Hardly the sophisticated creature of the night, yeah?"

Michael shrugged as they clambered to their feet in a tangle of limbs and polar fleece. "So you can't handle your blood yet. At least you can handle your liquor. That's more important." 

James wrapped his arms around Michael's shoulders, stretching up to land a kiss on Michael's lips. "You always put everything in perspective. Thank you."

"There's no trick to it." Michael replied, punctuating with another soft kiss. "You're still you and I love you no matter what."


End file.
